


A Long Way Home

by SaltAndSmoke



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Consensual Sex, Dragons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fix-It, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Graphic Description of Corpses, High Fantasy, Jaime's pullout game is weak af, Love Confessions, Marriage Proposal, Missionary, Mutilation, Non-Linear Narrative, Oral Sex, Post-Canon Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, There are no condoms in Westeros unfortunately, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, War, War Crimes, World Travel, a little incoherent but hopefully not too confusing, as is canonically stated, but that doesn't mean I want to promote unsafe sex yall don't live in the middle ages, don't feel inspired by the sexual events in this fic and protect yourselves!, dragonfire, i refuse to view anything that followed the first half of that episode as canon, lovemaking, set after s8 ep04, show!verse mixed with book!verse, some gore? but only in chapter 3, sorry for that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-06-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:20:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23963767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaltAndSmoke/pseuds/SaltAndSmoke
Summary: Desperate to catch up to her knight before he reaches King's Landing and meets certain doom, Brienne rides south, into the heart of the war-torn Seven Kingdoms. But time is running out, and the closer she comes to the capital, the more she fears that she might be too late to save Jaime...
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 38
Kudos: 114





	1. The Kingsroad

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of 7 chapters and one Outtake. I started writing this fanfic out of spite, after the desastrous events that were season 8, and after having re-read the asoiaf books for the 3rd time. It took me one year to finish this (with a long pause in the middle, but quarantine made it possible!) so don't worry about me abandoning this project (not this time!). Unless I drop dead within the next few days, this fanfic will upload regularly every week.  
> Set right after the last episode of season 8 (first half of ep04...what do you mean, that's not how it ended?), this is more a fix-it fic than anything else. GRRM will never give this to us either, so please enjoy.  
> P.S.: Please forgive occasional errors in grammar and syntax; I am not a native English speaker, so sometimes I slip up and make a mistake. I hope it's still enjoyable, though.

The sky was a leaden grey, heavy, fat-bellied clouds hanging so low Brienne felt like she could almost touch them. The sun was a pale veiled orb, a pinprick of cool light, too weak to warm the earth below. It was the sort of weather that meant cold days and icy winds but no rain.

_Snow. This weather means snow._

It was northern weather, the likes of which she had never witnessed this far south. And on the horizon, the blanket of grey clouds was met by pillars of sooty black smoke, rising, rising, rising high up for everyone to see from hundreds of miles away. Brienne could not help but remember that these black towers stood where red spires ought to have been, far away, yet heralding the presence of the king to every traveller who came down the Kingsroad. She herself had beheld them once, a lifetime ago, when she had come down this way in the company of Bolton men and one maimed Lannister.

Her heart sank as she watched the smoke rising where the Red Keep had been, tinging the grey clouds overhead black and red, Targaryen colours.

_Fire and Blood._

It seemed that Daenerys Targaryen had been true to her word after all. It also meant that Brienne had come too late.

The courser between her thighs was slowing down every passing minute, and she could feel his muscles quivering beneath her and hear his ragged breath. The beast was on the brink of exhaustion, and yet she urged him to carry on, though she was afraid of what she might find at the end of the road. When she lay a hand on the neck of her horse, it came away slick with sweat and heat. She felt a pang of guilt for having ridden him this hard, bus she had had no choice.

She had gone through four fresh mounts on her way south, and still it had taken her the better of three weeks to get from Winterfell to King’s Landing. Travelling the land in times of war was always a perilous thing, and even as heavily armed and armoured as she and Podrick were, they had had to fight off more than one ambush. The people were starved, and desperate, and desperate people did desperate things to achieve their goals. Brienne knew this. She was desperate, too.

She had ridden south, hellbound on reaching the city before it fell, reaching it, before -

They had set off three days after that night in the snow, the night the only man she had ever opened her heart to had crushed it, with just a few words and fading hoofbeat in the darkness. Three days was what it had taken her to convince Lady Sansa of giving her permission to leave her side and ride after a man who had left her crying in the cold, clad in nothing but a thin robe, stripped of her armour both physical and mental, to return to his hateful sister and his old, vile self. Sansa had not understood Brienne’s motivation and the thought of letting her most trusted protector go had not pleased her in the least, but in the end she had agreed and given her permission and a swift horse, on the condition that Brienne return to her as soon as she had found the Kingslayer, dead or alive.

Brienne had ridden as fast as her and Podricks mounts would carry them, although she had had little hope of ever finding Jaime in the wilderness of Westeros; he could have taken any road down south, any path, or made his own, and being alone and three days ahead of her, she could never have reached him, as fearless a rider as he was. But she had figured that, if she would ride fast enough, she could be in King’s Landing before the Dragon Queen and her armies reached it, and maybe, just maybe…she could find the man who had betrayed her before he found his sister.

So she had ridden off, left Winterfell just as he had, and she had not looked back. But her heart had been aching with uncertainty and fear, and the hooves of her horse had sung his name on the frozen ground as they rode south, day after day.

_Jaime. Jaime. Jaime. Jaime…_

“M’Lady - Ser! Did you see-“ her ever-faithful squire had caught up to her, his mount as lathered as hers. Podrick’s face had grown gaunter these past weeks, and his hair shaggier. The shadow of a beard was covering his cheeks now, too, and reminded Brienne that her squire’s squiring days were, by right, long done.

_But how shall I ever let him go, when he cannot seem to find his own head half the time?_

She mused. She had been knighted months ago, yet the poor lad still had trouble remembering her new title. Those were no matters of concern for the moment, though. It would have to wait.

“I did.”

“The sky, it’s…it doesn’t look right..it-” Podrick went silent, grappling with words he could not find. “do you think it’s…”

“Fire, Pod. Dragonfire.” Brienne did not have to look at her squire’s face to see the horror written there. That same feeling was taking root in her own chest as well.

“Are we…too late?”

She had to swallow hard and stayed silent for a moment, until she was certain that her voice would be steady again.

“I think we might be.” 

_It cannot be._

She had promised herself that she would not rest until she had found the knight who had made her a knight. She had been determined on reaching him, no matter the cost.

_Jaime…_

Brienne remembered the feeling of Widow’s Wail on her shoulder, and the cold hard granite beneath her knees. His soft voice as he spoke the vows and dubbed her a Ser. She remembered the warm waters of Harrenhal and that ice-cold night on a northern battlefield when dead things had walked. She remembered a bear pit.  
Brienne remembered other things as well.

Long nights spent sharing stories and warmth and beds. A calloused yet gentle hand caressing her breasts, touching her in places she had never been touched before. The feeling of his stubble brushing against the tender skin of her inner thighs, a trail of kisses that sent hot shivers through her entire body. The taste of mulled wine and herself on his lips, and all those small, beautiful, raw sounds he made just for her. Because of her.

She pressed her eyes shut and sent a quick prayer up to the Mother and the Warrior above.

_Have mercy on him. Give him strength. Keep him safe._

She could not give up now. Not after she had come all this way. He had to be there. He had to be.

Without another word, Brienne gave her courser the spurs one last time, and rode forth towards where the molten towers of the Red Keep grazed the crimson clouds like twisted fingers.


	2. I

That night in the snow she had felt like she was dying. When Brienne had to watch the man she had trusted with her life fading into the darkness, her heart simply stopped beating. Never in her life had she felt a pain this great, not when her bones had been broken or her teeth knocked out or when Biter had chewed off her cheek in the muddy yard of that small inn.  
Not even her king Renly dying in her arms had hurt as much as Jaime’s betrayal.

For a long time she had not been willing or able to move; she remained standing there, tears streaming down her face as her world shook and crumbled around her, and the past two months of happiness collapsed in on themselves and left an ashen taste in her mouth.

Finally, after what might have been minutes or an eternity, the biting cold had forced her to retreat inside, shivering and sniffling. By then, her tears had frozen on her cheeks and chin, and they had clung there like icy statements of her grief, for everyone to see.  
Only, thankfully, no one did.

After that, there had been darkness. Brienne had not been able to bring herself to return to her chambers, their chambers, rooms they had shared, with a bed and cushions that still smelt of him.  
So she turned the only way she could think of.

When she knocked on Lady Sansa’s door, dawn was already upon them, and her tears had dried. The guards let her pass without a word, for she was above them in rank and status, and had the unconditional trust of the Lady of Winterfell on her side. Sansa opened her door, dressed in a long, heavy nightgown as grey as the banners on the castle walls without, her auburn hair tied in a loose knot and her face lined by sleep and worry. One look at Brienne was all it took to bid her inside at once.

As soon as the heavy oaken door closed behind them, the tears started streaming again, and there was nothing Brienne could to do about it. She broke down on the cushioned chair Sansa had hastily pushed out to her, and for some time there were only sobs and whimpers and soothing whispers. Sansa sat by her side, stroking her back and shoulders, hesitantly at first, then more decisive, comforting. She never asked what had happened but waited until Brienne’s tears had run dry once more and her sobs had died down to helpless sniffles.  
Only then she spoke.

“He is gone, isn’t he.”

Not a question but a simple statement of the truth. It was all Brienne could do to nod.  
Sansa let out a long, weary sigh.

“I am so sorry, Brienne. I truly am.”

Her hand was warm on Brienne’s back, a soothing, familiar touch. Almost motherly.

“He is riding back south, I presume? “

“Yes”

Brienne hated the way her voice sounded, so small, and worn, and shaky. She swallowed hard, but the lump in her throat hurt all the more for it. Her friend nodded solemnly. In the darkness of her chamber, it was hard to read her face. But there was no need, for Sansa’s disappointment was as bright as daylight.

“Did he say anything to you? Anything at all?”

“He did.”

Just thinking about it made her want to scream in pain. It was searing hot, that pain, burning through her chest, razor-sharp, hooked claws tearing at her insides. She felt the tears well up again.

_She is hateful. And so am I._

“He is going back to her. He told me…he told me that he had to.”

“Of course he did.”

The bitterness in Sansa’s voice hurt almost as much as Jaime's words had. Brienne recoiled from her touch.

“I know what you think of him. What you have always thought of him…I know. But-“

“Brienne”

Sansa’s voice was as soft and warm as her hands, but there was a sadness within that was almost worse than the bitterness.

“It does not matter what I think of him. It never has. He is not my friend nor bannerman, but neither is he my foe…not anymore.”

She reached out to cup Brienne’s unscarred cheek in her hand and wiped away the tears still clinging to her freckled skin.

“All I had hoped was that he would be good to you, and better than he used to be. But erring is a part of life, and none can say what moves the hearts of men.”

She smiled then, a thin, sad smile.

“It matters not, though. He is gone now, and if the gods are good, he will not return to hurt you more.”

This made Brienne withdraw from her entirely. Grief was replaced by rage, balling up in her gut like a wild animal.

“If the gods are good? What would be good about that?!” she hissed, surprised by her own fury.

Sansa furrowed her brow in confusion.

“I know it is hard to let go of someone, but –“

“I am not letting go of him!”.

She must have looked so aghast, so shocked by the notion, that Sansa backed down immediately.

“I am sorry. It is still very early to talk of such things. I misjudged, my friend. Please forgive me.”

She lowered her gaze onto her slender, pale hands, now folded up neatly in her lap. Brienne swallowed her sudden anger and remembered who she was talking to.

“There is nothing to be forgiven. You have the right of it, and I do understand your side. To you, as to the rest of the realm, Ser Jaime has never been more than the Kingslayer. I have always understood your reservations against him. But Sansa…to me…to me he is –“

she did not know how to end her sentence, then.  
What was Jaime Lannister to her? A warrior. A knight. A great strategist. An unspeakable annoyance at times, with a great talent for irritating her especially.  
Yet he was also a man. A warm shape next to her. Whispers and kisses when the night was darkest, and wholehearted laughs and longing glances during the day. He was all of those things, and a great deal more than that besides.  
But foremostly, he was gone.

“- he means a lot to me.” She finally finished, and the words sounded lame and small in her ears.

Sansa bowed her head.

“I know that, Brienne. I do. And yet he has left for the South.”

Once again, her hands unfolded and rose from her lap to lightly touch Brienne’s hunched shoulders.

“I wish I could console you, soothe you by telling you that he is going to return, and that surely, he never meant to leave you but…” Sansa’s gaze met Brienne’s, blue in blue, and she could see genuine sorrow in those eyes that were more Tully than Stark, “…my dear friend, I am afraid I cannot make any such promises in good conscience.”

She took Brienne’s big, thick-fingered, calloused hand in her soft, graceful ones, and there was no trace of gloating on her face, only deep-felt compassion and worry.

“There is war down South, and dragons. I am worried for Jon, and Arya, and my army as well. Even –“ she gave a little smile “ I am even a bit worried for Tyrion, if you will believe me. But you and I, we have decided to stay up North, we did not choose this war. All we can do now is wait. Wait and see…and hope.”

“No.”

the word broke out of Brienne, coarse and blunt and much louder than she had anticipated.

“No, I will not wait…I cannot!”

She shook her head, shook off Sansa’s rational words and her compassionate glances, and clenched her hands into tight fists.

“I cannot sit here and wait, I cannot bear it.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow. “You would ride South as well? After him?”

Brienne bit her lip and nodded.

“After all he has done to you? After he betrayed you and returned to…to Cersei?”

Sansa spit the name out like venom, foul acid. Hearing it tore the wound inside Brienne’s chest open once more, only now it was more a cold sting than roaring heat. When she spoke, her voice was calm.

“Yes, my Lady.”

Sansa looked at her for a long moment, incredulousness and incomprehension flickering across her face in equal parts, before shaking her head.

“You do realize that as my sworn protector you will need my leave to abandon my side?”

“I do.”

Suddenly, it was all so simple. The path was clearly visible before her, and Brienne had never been surer of anything else in her life. In one swift motion, she rose from her chair, looming over her lady, determined. Her next words came to her easily.

“I do not believe that Ser Jaime has left me for another, my Lady. He is as honourable a knight as I have ever met and would never have done me such injustice. I do not know why he did what he did, but what I do believe is that he is currently riding towards a situation he will never possibly overcome without help. He needs me, Sansa, now more than ever, and, “ Brienne took a deep breath “that is why I am asking you to grant me leave to ride South and fight at his side in this war to come.”

Sansa had gotten out of her chair as well, her face calm as the water in the godswood, and just as unfathomable.

“I cannot grant you your wish, Ser. I cannot let my best knight from my side so she can pursue a man who has wronged her, and failed her, while war is creeping up on our doorstep. I will not allow it.”

Her voice was no longer Sansa’s; now spoke to Brienne the Lady of Winterfell, and her authority was absolute. Brienne gritted her teeth in helpless rage.

“My Lady. I am begging you. I know Ser Jaime better than anyone. He is a man of honour, and good. Please, let me find him!”

But that night, Sansa had been unyielding.

“I cannot. This is my decision. I will not have you sacrifice yourself for a man you believe worthy of your love and loyalty, who yet has never given you his in return. You are bound by oath to me, and not to Jaime Lannister.”

_Oh, but I am._

Brienne shook her head and turned towards the door. At the exit, she halted.

“You are right about many things, my Lady, but in this, you are wrong. Ser Jaime has shown me loyalty, he has proven his honour to me time and time again, and it is not like him to vanish in such haste. I must leave soon, or I will never find him…and as of love…I was once told that we do not choose who we love. I am beginning to think that there is truth in that. Now if you will excuse me, it is late, and we both have our duties come the morrow. I shall ask your leave once more, then.”

“You are excused.”

Sansa sounded tired, and sad besides, yet Brienne did notice the curtness of her manner. When the heavy door fell shut behind her and she found herself in the dark, torchlit hallway once more, she wondered whether what she had done had been wise at all.


	3. The Lion Gate

The ash started falling when they were still five miles from the city. It floated from the sky in thick flakes, as light and white as snow, but not so innocent.  
The closer they came, the stronger the smells grew, too. There was a saying, Brienne remembered absurdly, about how one could smell King’s Landing from five leagues away if the wind was blowing the wrong way. The saying might still be true, yet the stenches filling the air were no longer those of men or common beasts. They were dragon smells.  
Brimstone and sulphur, soot and smoke and burnt wood and smouldering stone, and beneath all of these, like a deeper layer of horror, the sweet ripe stench of burnt and rotting flesh.  
The capital smelt like death. It smelt like hell. And Brienne was about to ride right through its gates.

People were streaming out through the smashed city gates and onto the roads leading away from King’s Landing, hundreds and thousands of them. As they were riding, Brienne and Podrick happened upon an ever-increasing number of these refugees, none of whom paid them any mind. They were staggering past their mounts, dead-eyed and quiet, covered in soot and ash, many of them wounded. In an eerie way, they reminded Brienne of the wights she had been fighting not so long ago, yet these here still breathed, still felt.  
Once or twice, she tried to talk to one of them, calling down from the back of her courser, but timid looks and scowls were all the responses she ever got.

Still three miles from the city, she and Podrick happened upon the first corpses. The people coming from the city stepped around- and over them, not looking, not caring.   
But Brienne did care, and she took a hard look at every dead man and every carcass they passed.

Most of them had been soldiers. She saw Northmen in boiled leather and bronze scales; mighty horselords crushed beneath their mounts; Unsullied with their spiked iron helms askew on their heads.  
Brienne also noticed a great number of men bearing no devices at all. Huge Tyroshi with colourful beards that still shone bright even in death. Dark-skinned, lean Summer Islanders with feathers decorating their armour; fair-haired Lyseni warriors, their pale blue eyes staring into the sky, unseeing. Their numbers were so great, and their appearances so diverse that Brienne concluded that they must have been sellswords who rode with the Golden Company.

_There are so many of them, though._

The fighting must truly have been dire. The closer they got to the city, the thicker the dead covered the ground, until there was scarcely a patch of earth to be seen. Though the day was cold, the stench was already abominable.   
In places, the ground and corpses were blackened and still smoldering, tiny fires lapping at flesh and fabric; in others, the ground was so soaked with blood that it gushed out from under Brienne’s horse’s hooves.  
After all the death she had witnessed throughout this cursed autumn and the beginning of winter, Brienne had thought that she knew what it looked like. Yet the massacre before the main gates of King’s Landing was almost too much for her to stomach.

_This is madness. They tore each other apart like dogs._

Next to her, Podrick looked just as pallid and shaken as she felt, his skin a grey-ish white. She felt sorry for having led the boy on yet another battlefield, but she could not have known.

_I thought I could make it in time. I never thought it would be this terrible._

Once, they had to dismount to heave an entangled mass of beasts and men off their path. When Brienne tried to move one of the corpses, a fat Ghiscari with his black-and-red hair wrought in the shape of a phoenix, the dead mans’ slashed belly ripped open and his entrails spilled over her arms and splattered on the ground before her feet.   
Disgusted and horrified, she let go of him, and turned away, certain that she must retch up the sparse breakfast she and Podrick had shared that morning. A moment later, Brienne gained control over herself again though, swallowed hard and took a few shallow breaths so as not to inhale the foul air too deeply. Only when she was certain that she would not falter again did she resume to help Podrick and the refugees clear the path, and before long they were continuing on.

The uneven, torn-up and corpse-littered ground made it impossible to keep a fast pace, and so it took much longer than Brienne would have liked before they finally reached the Lion Gate.   
As they got closer, Brienne realized that the gate had not been broken in by a ram of any sort. In fact, she could not make out any gate at all. Instead, the great city wall seemed to have been blown away from the inside out by an incredible force, and parts of it seemed to have been molten down. The edges of the enormous gap were smooth and black and twisted, ripples of once-liquid stone running down its sides, frozen witnesses of the power of a dragon’s breath.

About a hundred yards from the opening, they rode past the blackened remnants of what must once have been one wing of the heavy oaken city gate. It stuck in the earth, half-buried by the force of its impact, like a black and broken tooth accusatorily jabbing at the sky.   
When Brienne saw the charred wood and the molten metal fittings, a shiver ran down her spine.

_Magic and monsters are ruling this city now_.

She had seen what dragonfire could do before, of course. She had witnessed an entire undead army engulfed in black and scarlet flames, and flames of bronze and green, had seen stone melt and towers fall under the wrath of these magnificent creatures. Yet, seeing its impact here, so far south and directed at the living, she could not help but feel a cold hard lump form in her chest.   
She was afraid of what she would find beyond those obliterated gates. And Jaime…

_Could he even be alive after this? How damaged is the city truly?_

Brienne forced herself not to think of it. Instead, she urged her horse onward, and the poor beast staggered past broken boulders twice its size and ash-covered bodies, through the breach and into the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. As they passed the molten city walls Brienne could feel a faint warmth still radiating off the twisted stone. Suddenly, she felt very cold. 

Beyond the gates, Brienne and Podrick were met with more rubble, ash, dead people and two northmen who looked all but dead yet somehow still breathed and stood, blocking their path. They were posted by the crushed walls, stern and hollow-eyed, watching the citizens of King’s Landing flee their city. Both of them had long, shaggy beards and bore the direwolf of house Stark on their surcoats.  
Stark men. Jon’s men.

_They will let us pass_.

The taller one of the two, whose dark-grey cloak was fastened with a heavy iron brooch wrought in the shape of the two-edged battle axe of house Cerwyn spoke out to them first.

“Who goes there?” he demanded to know, a common challenge shouted at any potential intruder, only usually with much more vigor. This one sounded almost faint, bereft of strength and aggression.

_They left all that on the battlefield we just crossed,_ Brienne thought. _They are tired and weary, and scared, too_.

She cleared her dry throat and answered truthfully:

“I am Ser Brienne of Tarth, daughter of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, and this is my squire, Podrick Payne. We have come a long way, good Sers, and wish to enter the city.”

“We are no Sers, m’lady”, the Cerwyn man pointed out “just foot soldiers, is all.”

Brienne acknowledged his correction with a curt nod. Both men squinted up at her, small eyes staring from faces covered in soot and blood. Then, the smaller one finally seemed to recognize her.

“Lady Brienne! Of course! Apologies, m’lady, we did not expect to meet you here. You are a long way from Winterfell.”

It irked her that the men were not addressing her by her knightly title, but she did not press the matter. Instead, she asked the question that had been burning on her tongue ever since the broken towers of the Red Keep had appeared on the horizon.

“What has happened here?”

The smaller man scoffed. His left forearm was wrapped in rags, Brienne noticed now, pieces of cloth torn off a cloak or a sleeve, and dark with blood.

“We sacked the city ‘s what’s happened.” He said.

“Burned it, you mean.” the other guard sighed. He sounded more exhausted than anything.

“Aye, though ‘twas not us that did the burning. And the whole city didn’t burn, Bregg, you know that.”

The tall northman shook his head.

“No, but still a good part of it was set ablaze by those flying beasts…”

“How much?” Brienne demanded to know, unable to hide the tension in her voice. “How many dead?”

“Inside the walls? Hard to say m’lady, but ‘tis fewer than are fleeing. The Dragon Queen made for the Red Keep when the battle before the gates was all but won and still the city did not surrender. That green one flew right over my head – “ the short guard rolled his eyes at that “- I’m tellin’ you it did, Pate! And she burned down that castle. Alas…” he gestured towards the molten walls, the smouldering fires and the black pillars of smoke rising in the distance “this city’s been built in wood, and some of the hovels closest to the Keep caught fire like kindling. We been quenching fires for hours but two new spring up for every one we put out.” He wiped his brow and grunted. “parts o’ the city are lost, I think, but most people made it out in time. And so should we, yet here we stand, guarding a gate that’s no gate.”

“What is your business here, m’lady?” Pate inquired, suddenly remembering his guard duty.   
Brienne cleared her throat. Her heart felt a little lighter, but she did not allow herself to be relieved. The city and its people were safe, but the Red Keep had been all but obliterated, and it was there she would need to start searching.

_If he had his wits about him, he left the castle before the attack began. And he might not even have reached King’s Landing before the battle started…_

She wanted to believe it, with all her heart, but something told her that she was wrong.

“I came here to deliver an important message from Lady Sansa to Queen Daenerys.” Brienne said, and prayed that the two men would not notice the lie. “If truth be told, I am in quite a haste, and would be grateful if you could let me pass quickly.”

Pate wrinkled his nose and squinted up at her.

“The queen and all her advisors are in her camp some five miles west o’ here near the Iron Gate. You need to go looking for her there.”

_Seven Hells._

Lying had never come easy to Brienne, and lying under pressure, exhausted by a long journey and sick with worry was an even harder thing. Before she could think of an answer that would get them through the gates regardless, a voice next to her spoke up:

“We have also come to lend our help wherever we can, and protect those who need protection, Ser. I understand this city is still full of people who need to be guided to safety, and fires that need to be stopped from spreading. We are offering our help, good Sers.”

Astonished, Brienne turned her head towards her squire, sitting atop his courser, straight and demanding, suddenly three inches taller, his back pushed through and his head held high.

_His voice did not tremble one bit_ , she thought, wondering.

Somewhere between Winterfell and King’s Landing, Podrick had become a man, and she had never noticed.

_Oh, but I have. I just shut my eyes to it. He is a man grown now, with a voice that wants to be heard. I cannot deny it any longer._

Bregg answered her squire’s words with a shrug.

“As I told you, lad, we’re no knights, the lot o’ us. But makes no matter, if you two have come to help, we’ll take you gladly. Lost lots o’ good men in front of these walls. Aye, we have.”

He stepped aside and gestured to his fellow guardsman to do the same.

“Come in and see where you are needed. Lord Snow’s troops should be down in Flea Bottom, and last I saw them, Lady Mormont’s men were making for the Mud Gate.”

“Many thanks to you. We shall find them.”

Pate seemed less convinced.

“What about your important message for the queen?” he asked Brienne pointedly.

“I deem the lives of innocents more important than a letter, and I am sure my Lady does as well,” she answered, already setting her horse in motion to push past the northman. He stood his ground for a moment, grudgingly, then he, too, stepped aside and let them pass.

When they were well down the road and out of earshot, Brienne turned to Podrick and looked at him sharply.

“You know, you never fail to surprise me, Pod. What was that?”

“What do you mean, m’lady … Ser?”

“The…your lie. The way you talked to the guards. You were so sure of yourself, quite impressive.”

“I do not know…I just said what I thought. What would move them, I mean. So they’d let us in. And it did work!”

“So it did”

Brienne had to grin, a hideous sight, she was sure, but Podrick grinned back at her just as widely.

“I am proud of you, Pod. I truly am.”

Her squire blushed and stammered and did not find the words to respond.

_Helpless and gentle, yet cool-headed and strong when it counts._

Brienne did not stop smiling until they reached the first burning houses.


	4. II

In truth, Brienne had never once believed the words thrown into the cold air of that clear winter's night. She knew Jaime better than that.  
And so she had told Sansa, time and time again, while precious days drifted past and were lost.  
She did get the leave she had been pleading for, eventually, and rather grudgingly, but Jaime had been well ahead by then, and catching up to him was an impossibility. Yet Brienne had drawn strength from the truth that she believed in. It was a truth so fundamental that doubting it was wholly out of question.

  
Jaime loved her, with all his heart, his soul, his body and his being, and nothing in the world would change a thing about that. Not now, nor ever.  
He was hers, and she was his.

Brienne had heard those words from his very lips, when darkness lay around them, and their voices were the only sounds in the warm, cosy room that was theirs.  
A part of her had known it from the moment that her life had unexpectedly been saved by an unarmed, one-handed madman, that dark day at Harrenhal. It had taken a long time to understand the feelings that had been seeded somewhere during their journey through the Riverlands and grown every passing day thereafter.  
And accepting them, embracing them instead of denying their very existence had taken even longer. She knew that it had been more difficult for Jaime, and that it had taken him much, much longer to fully admit their shared truth to himself. Yet, when finally he did, it was as if the whole world had just been made for the two of them, if only for a little while.

She held onto those moments, for she knew they were truer than that cursed night in the snow, truer than the fading hoofbeat and Jaime’s dark, haunted eyes that tried to look her in the face but could not quite meet her gaze, shifting away quickly as he spoke. Not quickly enough to hide the desperate lie behind them, though. 

Only later had she realized its purpose. Only when the shock had gone from her body, and her tears had dried up, and her head had cleared enough to think had she understood.

_He said these things to protect me. To keep me safe, up North where the war will not touch me. He knows that he is riding to his doom, and he wants to keep me from following._

A dry, joyless chuckle had escaped her throat.

_Jaime, you golden fool. It takes more than that to shake me off._

And so, she had followed him, against his will, ignoring his harsh words, for she had known that they had not been said in earnest. She had heard Jaime speak the truth before, she knew what it sounded like, and felt like, and that was what she held onto.

***

The night he had first confessed his feelings to her had been the happiest night of her life.

It was only the second time they were together. This time, they were both sober, and shyer. The events of the night before lay between them, obvious and undeniable, yet neither of them dared to address them as they sat by the fire that evening.

The morning after the feast, they had woken up side by side, and the first thing Brienne had seen that day was the emerald twinkle of two sleepy eyes focused on her. The warmth that had spread through her at that sight had been so indescribably wonderful that in that moment, she was certain that she wanted every morning of her life to be this way.

And yet, the moment they had gotten out of bed and shrugged into their clothes again, an awkward silence had spread between them. They had gone on with their day as usual, done their duties and exchanged a few words when they met by chance, but both had kept their distance, unsure how to proceed.

By the end of the day though, they had found themselves drifting back to the same bedchamber again.

This time, it was Jaime who had arrived first, and started a fire while Brienne was away. Entering her private rooms and finding them warm and inhabited had been a queer and alarming experience to her at first. She had not seen the man in front of the fire right away and had had her hand on her sword already when she heard his familiar voice.

“You took your time, wench.”

His tone was mocking, as it often was, but Brienne lifted her hand from the pommel of her sword and relaxed immediately. A moment later, she tensed up again as she realized the situation she was in.

“I started a fire so I wouldn’t freeze to death while waiting for you.”

Jaime rose from the cushioned bench he had been sitting on and casually smoothed out his shirt.

He had changed his clothes since last she saw him. The thick furs, mail and plate were gone, and a pair of soft brown doeskin breeches and a white linen shirt had taken their place.  
White was a good colour on him, though she knew he would not be pleased to hear it. It made the green of his eyes stand out more starkly and let his hair shimmer like beaten gold in the firelight. He was growing it out again, and the thick golden curls framed his face and tumbled almost to his shoulders. They were shot through with silver now, to be sure, just like his beard, but somehow that, too, looked good on him.  
For a moment, Brienne’s gaze lingered on the patch of soft skin below his collarbone, revealed by the lazily laced shirt, and she had to force herself to avert her eyes quickly. She knew that he had noticed her looking, though. 

“Ser Jaime.” Brienne fought hard to make her voice sound firm. Her body felt electrified, her muscles tense, ready to bolt and run or fight. Her heart beat so loud and fast that she could hear it over the crackling of the fire.  
She prayed to the Seven that Jaime did not.

_It is just a conversation we are having. Just talk. I do not have to fight anyone. It is just him._

“What are you doing in my quarters?”

She had meant to sound demanding and enraged but knew that she had failed utterly at that as soon as the words left her mouth.

Jaime made no move to come any closer, but the smirk on his bearded face widened into a grin. 

“I just felt bored and wanted some company. My day was extraordinarily dull, this place is so dreary.” He sighed. “No wonder the Starks have no humour. It is not their fault, growing up in such a dreadfully bleak corner of the world.”

“It is better than many places I have been, and stalwart and almost impregnable besides.” Brienne objected, feeling the need to defend her Lady’s home.

“Right.” said Jaime, with more than a trace of sarcasm “sounds like a lovely place to grow up at.” He shook his head, “No, the cold and the snow and those damned wolves in the woods and in the halls are not for me. I prefer it warm. Speaking of which –“ he gestured in her general direction “close that door, it’s getting rather draughty in here.”

When Brienne did not move, he sighed and added: “Please.”

She frowned, feeling uncertainty creep up and threaten to overwhelm her.

“You have not come to me to talk about the weather.”, she assessed bluntly, feeling a blush crawl up her cheeks despite her best efforts to keep it away.

Jaime lowered his gaze for a second before his eyes sprang back up to meet hers, unflinching.

  
“No.” he said. “No, I haven’t.”

Somehow, his voice sounded different, darker and throatier, and somehow, that made something deep inside of Brienne tingle with warmth and excitement and left her utterly confused. 

“Now would you please close the door, Brienne?”

She did as he bid her this time, and found herself standing with her back against hard old oak, feeling too big, too tall, too clumsy. _Too much.  
_Being entirely too aware of how much space she was taking up.

After a moment of silence that seemed to stretch on forever and beyond, Jaime cleared his throat and sat back down on the bench by the fire.

“Thank you.” 

“What fo-“

“The door.” He patted on the cushion on his left. “I think we need to talk.”

There was a pleading look in his eyes, and suddenly Brienne realized that he was uncertain, too.

“I think we do, yes.”, she admitted quietly and moved away from the door and closer to him, just one small step. Then she stopped and stood there, awkwardly and huge.

Jaime gave a small, irritated scoff.

“come on now, Ser, it is so hard to see you in the dark and my neck is cramping. Rather uncomfortable to have a conversation looking backwards the whole time. Sit with me.”

And so she did, but warily. When she felt the warmth of the fire on her face, she relaxed a little and sat down on the short bench, with as much space between herself and Jaime as possible. Instinctively, she tilted her head so that the firelight would fall upon the good side of her face, hiding the ruins of her other cheek in the shadows, away from him.  
An irrational part of her wanted to angle out her leg to touch his knee or sit closer so that their thighs might brush together, but she did not dare to.

_We have done a much greater deal of touching before._

She thought and felt ashamed and wistful all at once.

Jaime had his hands in his lap, his left frantically fumbling at the metal of his right, rubbing the golden fingers as if to relieve them from an itch. When he spoke, he kept his eyes steady on them, though Brienne was not sure whether he was seeing them at all.

“I did not come to complain about the North. I have done enough of that already, I suppose.”

Jaime shifted slightly, uncomfortably.

“I came here to apologize to you. What happened last night….I, well…I would like to apologize for…that.” He tugged at his right sleeve, his whole face a huge frown. “I should not have…it was not right to press you and…dishonour you. I am very sorry for taking advantage and…”

He trailed off and fell silent. Brienne did not know what to say. Her heart was beating fast, and she was beginning to feel agonizingly hot beneath her heavy woollen cloak and thick layers of clothes.  
But mostly, she was utterly taken aback by Jaime’s words.

“Dishonour me?” she finally asked, her voice so quiet it scarcely rose above the crackling of the fire. Jaime’s eyes stayed fixed on his folded hands, his mouth a thin hard line.

Brienne shook her head and turned towards him, facing him for the first time.

“How would you have dishonoured me, Jaime?” she demanded to know, softly.

He lifted his head, his eyes flicking from his hands to her face and not quite meeting her gaze, then staring into the crackling flames of the hearth. When he spoke, his voice was thick with regret.

“We are not married. You were a maiden. You told me as much, and I knew even before that…long before that, to be sure. What I did was wrong, and there is no way to undo it. All I can do is to ask your forgiveness.”

He was still not looking at her. Brienne swallowed hard and tried to get her thoughts in order. Nothing she came up with seemed right, yet the man next to her was awaiting an answer, a reaction.

“Why would you need my forgiveness?” 

“Well I…I know how much your honour means to you…I should have never-“

Brienne bit her lip, her thoughts racing as fast as her heart. She struggled with herself to bring up the courage and say the words she was almost too afraid to say. Almost.

“Oh, Jaime.” She finally heard herself whisper, “do you really think the things that happened last night would have happened if I had not wanted them to?”

she felt a rush of excitement at her own boldness, and to her surprise, her hand reached out to pause his restlessly fidgeting fingers and cover them whole.

For a moment, she looked in wonder at both their hands in Jaime’s lap, and when she lifted her gaze, it was met directly by a pair of intense, green eyes, filled with awe and fading guilt.

“Are you implying that you do not feel … besmirched or…defiled? I mean, we were quite drunk and -“

“You have seen what I do to men who want to force their will onto me.”

“Yes…I had the pleasure to experience it at first hand, too.”

There it was again, the lopsided, cocksure smirk that had once had the power to make her so furious. Now it was not aimed at her, though.  
Brienne remembered the sweet song of steel in a small wood somewhere in the Riverlands, grunts and curses, mud and blood and punches, breathless laughter and _excitement_. A head held under water. A man squirming beneath her, struggling to break free. More curses.  
She felt herself return the smile.

“So what you are saying is…” Jaime’s voice was cautious, carefully choosing the words “…you enjoyed what happened last night?”

Brienne closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. She knew the answer but saying it out loud seemed an impossible thing to do. The armour of caution that she had wrapped around herself for so long to hide her weak spots and her feelings from the world without was hard, and cold and restrictive. The night before she had been drunk, for the first time in a long time, and had been able to let her guard down for a bit, to escape the prison of her own caution.  
But now she was sober, and everything was so much harder.  
She could feel the warmth of Jaime’s hand, lying still beneath her fingers and could not help but remember the things that hand had made her feel the night before. The thought of making a move, leaving the caution behind and fully giving herself to someone scared her senseless, but this was Jaime.  
This was the man she had sworn to protect, who had broken his oaths but kept every one of his promises towards her. He had saved her from beasts more than once, and had paid for it, had defied his own family for her, had gifted her a sword fit for a hero and fought at her side during the darkest hours, saving her life countless times.  
And he was the knight who had made her a knight. The man who had made her a woman.   
She swallowed hard and exhaled. It was time to take the armour off.

When she opened her eyes again, Jaime was watching her expectantly, insecurity written all over his face. This time, she held his gaze.

“I did, yes. I…I enjoyed it very much.”

The relief washing over her knight’s features was tangible, and the wide smile that parted his greying beard made Brienne’s stomach tingle warmly again.

“Then I guess there is nothing to be sorry about after all.” he murmured softly, and suddenly he was very close, leaning in, and his fingers were entwined with hers, his thumb stroking the back of her hand.

_So close._

She could see the fine lines around his dark eyes, the golden shimmer of firelight caught in his beard, his soft, inviting lips. He was the most beautiful man Brienne had ever seen.

_And he is mine, if I would have him._

And she did. So direly.  
Her body was aching for him, a craving so intense she could scarcely breathe. His thumb left small burning circles on her skin, and despite the heat of the fire she shivered, gripped by an overwhelming wave of emotion.

_Gods, how have I ever been able to stay calm in his presence before?_

Brienne took a shaky breath, letting out air she had not realized she’d held.

“No, there isn’t.”, she agreed, her voice no more than a whisper, caught in the small space between them. “I am glad about what happened…I am glad that it was…that it was you.”

The wrinkles around Jaime’s eyes deepened, and though she could not see his mouth now, she saw his smile twinkle in those emerald orbs. All the hardness and the malevolence that used to be there were gone, and warmth and kindness had taken their place.

_Kind eyes. I love a man with kind eyes._

“I am glad about that, too.”

His fingers gave her hand a small squeeze, almost playful, but the rasp in his voice was anything but. “

I only regret to have made you drunk before, and to have been drunk myself. That was not very knightly, I suppose.”

She almost let a chuckle escape her throat and fought it down at the last instant, as not to ruin the moment. Not now.

“You are probably right…it wasn’t. But without the wine I…I would have lacked the courage.”

As soon as the confession had left her mouth, Brienne wanted to take it back. She felt lightheaded.

_What am I doing here? What am I thinking?_

Jaime was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin as he let out a quiet laugh, gentle gusts of air caressing her heated face.

“Do you lack it now, wench?”

If her face had not been flushed before, it certainly was now. She could not think of any suitable answer, let alone a witty one, as always, so she decided not to speak at all.

Instead, and much to her own surprise, Brienne leaned forward, bridged the remaining space between them and gently placed her lips on his. They were as soft and warm as she remembered, and the feeling of his beard tickling her skin was as irritating as it was pleasant.

He stayed still for a second, stunned, and then answered the kiss, much more carefully than the night before. The tingle in Brienne’s stomach became a raging fire, and she could feel a much deeper, sweeter ache stir, farther down.

_I want him…and he wants me._

Then they broke the kiss, and Jaime let go of her hand as well, resting it on her thigh. His eyes were so dark that Brienne could hardly make out their colour, and a rosy blush had crept up his cheeks.

“Well”, he murmured “that’s what I thought.”

They kissed again, more deeply now, and as she felt his tongue against her lips like a hesitant question, she parted them and tasted him, rich and full and good. His hand went up to her face, to cup her cheek and pull her closer, into a tight embrace.

Soon, his fingers were struggling with the clasps of her cloak, and with a relieved sigh, the heavy fabric and the furs slid off her shoulders and puddled on the floor behind them a moment later.  
But when Brienne reached out for the laces of his shirt, and her fingertips brushed the bruised skin beneath the fabric, he gently stayed her hand and broke the kiss. 

Pulling away, he gave her a look that she could not at all comprehend, measured and pensive. Within a second the doubt was creeping back in, stifling all excitement.

_He has changed his mind. He finds me repulsive. Gods, how could I ever have thought -_

“We should get married.”


	5. III

She heard the words but did not understand their meaning. Jaime looked at her, his face serious, almost somber, awaiting her reaction. Brienne felt like every word she had ever learned had left her head. But Jaime did not hesitate for long, and suddenly he was on one knee before her, his hands folded over hers, and his eyes never left hers for a second, showing her nothing but upright earnest.

“Brienne, will you marry me?”

His hair drank the firelight that glinted off the gold of his hand and though the room was dark, he shone all the brighter. In this moment, he was all the light that existed in her world.

She was too overwhelmed to speak. His hands on hers, one cold and hard, one soft and warm, were their only connection, yet his eyes seemed to cover her whole. She saw him swallow hard and could feel how nervous he was.

“We have already spent one night together, but as man and woman, not husband and wife. I could never forgive myself should I have gotten you with child, and you would have to give birth to a bastard and bring him up under the scornful eyes of pretentious…nobles. I could not bear it, Brienne. Please...”

_Not again, he means. He could not bear it again._

There was a pleading in his voice, and a hunger in his eyes, and the truth was written all over his beautiful face. But he did not say it out loud.  
Finally, she found her voice again.

“You’re doing it again.”

Quiet, but firm. Brienne’s mind was a jumble, and her heart was fluttering in her chest, but she was still unsure, and annoyed. Annoyed by the words behind his words, and his way of hiding them from her. 

Jaime’s frown deepened and confusion shadowed the hope on his face.

“What?”

“You are talking without saying what you really want to say. You are distracting from something…You always are.”

He shifted his weight a little, haunching on his heels, head tilted back to see her better, drawing away. His hands stayed firmly on hers, though.

“I am not – I am trying to be honest here! For the gods’ sake, Brienne! I do mean it!”

“I know you do!” it sounded exasperated. She turned the palm of her right hand to hold his left, gripping his fingers firmly.

_I need to hear him say it._

“I know you are being honest with me, Jaime. You are saying all these things, promising and pleading and your reasoning is very sound, it is. But…I cannot marry a man who hides behind his words. Why do you want to marry me? Truly?”

Silence followed her words. The furrow on Jaime’s brow smoothened, and the irritated expression vanished. The look he gave her was so warm, and so tender, that it made Brienne’s stomach tingle. When he finally spoke, his voice was a husky whisper.

“You know why.”

“Do I?”

He bit his lip, almost chewing it. He never did that. Brienne wondered whether his mouth was as dry as hers.  
Then, he let out a sigh, and caved in.

“You are going to be the death of me, Brienne. I swear to the gods. But that is why I love you.”

“What was that?”

“I love you. You, and your stubbornness and your honourable ideas.” He was looking directly at her now, looking deep into her eyes, and his low voice rang back from the walls and resonated within her. “I love your hair, and your freckles, and the way you laugh…and gods, I love your eyes most of all. I love you, Brienne of Tarth. More than I thought I was capable of…but I do believe that you already knew that.”

She had. He had told her countless times, through gestures, and deeds, and looks. But hearing it was another thing altogether. Hearing it from his lips made it true. Brienne felt tears sting in the corners of her eyes and blinked them back.

“Is that what you wanted to hear from me, now?” he asked softly. His fingers were moving over hers again, gently stroking the scabs and scars on the back of her hand.

“Yes.” Her voice betrayed her where her eyes had not. It sounded choked and cracked. Weak.

_No, Vulnerable_

“And yes. I Do.”

“You do?”

“I do want to marry you.”

The simplicity with which she said the words did not at all do the happiness rushing through her body justice, but she had no better words than these.

Jaime smiled, and the room grew brighter. Within moments, he had risen off the floor and planted a kiss on each of her cheeks, and one on her forehead. He lingered there, his lips pressed to her skin, his good hand nestled at her neck; she could feel his smile even there, though she could not see it.

“Thank you” he whispered hoarsely.

“Should we go and find the septon to say our vows?” Brienne suggested,

“Right now?”

“Well…I thought-“ She cut herself off before saying something stupid. Had she misread him? Somehow mistaken his meaning?

“The septon will be abed at this hour, and I do not think that it is wise to wake him to perform a sacred ritual unprepared.”

“But should we wait until the morrow, then?”

“….Well…” there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Can you wait that long?”

Brienne tried to imagine closing the door behind Jaime, changing into her nightgown and going to bed this very moment, alone. To wake alone the next morning, without twinkling emeralds to greet her. Her heart sank at the mere thought of it.

“….No.” she admitted, blushing against her will.

Jaime looked like a very large, very relieved cat. His voice was a purr. 

“You know…there is a custom, a very ancient custom I believe, that allows couples to marry between them, with no witnesses or holy men present. If they perform the ritual and say their vows, and mean them…they are married lawfully. Some of my ancestors got married that way, I believe.”

“But who would know about it, then?”

“We would. Besides…I would rather have a nice, proper wedding after this war is done, with all the lavish and beauty and peace that you deserve…my family cloak is stowed away somewhere in the bowels of the Red Keep and the food here hardly makes for a decent feast…”

That made her smile. _A proper wedding_. She had dreamed of her own wedding ever since she had been old enough to remember her dreams, yet as the years went by realization had started to creep in that they would stay dreams forever, and her hope had dwindled with each look in the mirror and each contemptuous snigger. But now…

_A sept and a dress and a ribbon, a cake and a feast and a cloak around my shoulders…A wedding I deserve…_

Brienne felt the tears well up again, and this time she could not stop them from spilling over and running down her face. Jaime stared at her, perplexed and worried, stunned.

“What is it? Did I say something wrong? … do you not want-“

“No,” Brienne tried a smile and found that it was not hard at all, “No. It’s all right.” She lifted her hand to wipe the tears away, but he grasped her wrist gently and dried them with his thumb. “I am just…I’m happy.”

Jaime said nothing but leaned forward and kissed away the tears his hand had missed. Something inside Brienne tensed up as his lips brushed over the scarred flesh of her cheek, and for a moment the sound of heavy rain on plate rang in her ears and the stink of fresh blood and muddy earth stung in her nose, but it was gone as fast as it had appeared.

 _A ghost. No more_.

No doubt Jaime had sensed her discomfort, for he moved on at once, kissing a trail down her neck. She could have lost herself then, stroking his soft golden curls and taking in his scent; instead, she forced herself to return to the topic at hand.

“So how do we do it?”

He hesitated, his lips warm against the hollow of her neck. When he spoke, she could feel his words on her skin. 

“We say our vows to each other, and make our promises, and grow old and wrinkly together.”

“I would love nothing more than that.”

He lifted his head from her shoulder, rose from the ground and pulled her to her feet with ease. Though half a head shorter than her, and bruised from battle, Jaime Lannister was as strong as he had ever been, and stronger than when they had first made their swords sing down in the Riverlands. He led her around the bench where she had been sitting until they stood facing each other, the fire as their only witness lighting both their faces.

For a moment, they stood motionless, studying the others’ face, uncertain how to proceed. Then, Jaime seized the word, and his voice was low and dark and solemn, graver even than when he had knighted her.

“We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.”

A shiver ran down Brienne’s spine at the ancient words that initiated the ceremony. There was no other sound than the crackling of the fire and their voices, as they started to recite the ceremonial phrases to one another in turn. When they reached the cloaking of the bride, Jaime smiled apologetically at her, before murmuring the line that welcomed her into his family.

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Instead of gallantly draping a heavy cloth over her shoulders, he reached down and undid the buckles that held her surcoat bearing the quartered moon and sun of house Tarth in place and, with her help, pulled it over her head. He gently tucked a few strands of her hair, which had been disarrayed in the process behind her ear, and she could not help but smile despite the ceremonial atmosphere of the occasion. Jaime returned her smile brightly, and when it was her turn to carry on with the service, she reached for the laces of his shirt and hesitantly started to undo them while she spoke, half wanting and half fearing to go on.

“Let it be known that Brienne of house Tarth and Jaime of house Lannister are one heart,” the laces fell away untied, “one flesh,” her voice grew steadier, “one soul.”

Her hands, huge, freckled, rough, trembled as they pushed aside the thin fabric to reveal the blotched skin beneath. When she lifted her gaze, she found Jaime looking right at her, his eyes bright and soft with adoration. She almost did not finish her part, then.

“Cursed be he who would seek to tear them apart.” The last words came hushed, squeezed between breaths.

Jaime continued for her, and when his lips moved, so did his hand. He unbuckled the clasps binding his golden hand to his wrist, one by one, and pulled one of the leather strips wrapped around his forearm from its fastening. Gingerly, he pulled the heavy metal from his wrist, and placed it to their feet, never looking at Brienne. Then, Jaime took the soft leather and curled it around his fingers, carefully avoiding to make a tangle of it as he spoke.

  
“In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls,” he gently took Brienne’s right hand in his left, and pushed the ribbon between her fingers. Together, they wound the fair band around their entwined hands while Jaime carried on. “binding them as one for eternity.”

Brienne tied a knot, rather clumsily one-handed, and felt a smile come to her lips.

“Look upon one another and say the words.”

Then they spoke together, as one, and their mingled voices rang from the walls and faded into the darkness beyond the sheen of the fire, and Brienne’s world grew small, so small and green and gold, as she looked upon the face of the man she loved.

“Father, Smith, Warrior” 

she felt him edge closer, until his right arm was around her waist and the bare stump of his swordhand pressed to the small of her back.

“Mother, Maiden, Crone,”

Her own left hand was free, and it wandered down without her doing, until her fingers found his waistband and slipped beneath it.

“Stranger.” 

Their bound hands were caught between them, and Jaime’s fingers rubbed restlessly against hers, drawing small circles on her right palm as she let her left glide over the scabbed and scratched skin of his hips and stomach, feeling the cuts and swollen bruises the Long Night had dealt him.

She felt lightheaded when she said her last line, the one that meant more than all that had come before it.

“I am his and he is mine.”

“I am hers and she is mine.”

“From this day, “

“until the end of my days.”

Jaime was so close that she could feel him all around her, his strong arm holding her tight against him. When he pulled away a little to look right at her, the wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled.

“With this kiss I pledge my love.” He murmured hoarsely, and when he pressed his lips on hers, Brienne forgot where she was, or who.

After that it was all a blur of soft, hungry kisses, searching hands and heavy clothing sliding to the floor. Brienne found herself on her back, lying on the thick bear pelt that covered her bed where Jaime had pushed her, wearing only her thin linen undershirt and smallclothes. Jaime was right above her, propped on his elbows, his bare chest almost touching hers. His eyes shone brightly, his cheeks were flushed, and his golden curls were a tousled nest. Although she was almost naked, she felt calm, at ease around him, his gaze burning on her skin.

 _I am his wife_. The thought made her giddy. _He loves me. He sees me, and he loves me. I am all right._

He continued kissing her, his lips tracing a hot trail from her cheek to her collarbone, while his hand slid underneath her shirt to caress her skin, gently avoiding the worst cuts and bruises and brushing lightly over the scabs of smaller injuries. When he stopped his kisses to tug at the hem of her shirt with his teeth, Brienne had to giggle like a young girl before she helped him get it off her. Jaime’s lips resumed their journey, traveling from her collarbone down to the soft skin of her left breast. When he brushed over her already hard nipple, she shuddered and held her breath. His hand found her right breast and cupped it, squeezing softly, while his mouth went to work, his tongue circling her sensitive nipple, his lips sucking lightly.  
All the while he hummed, a low sound that came from deep within his chest and resonated in her own. It was a sound of pure content, like the purr of some great beast, and it made Brienne’s heart beat faster and the ache between her legs grow deeper.

When his mouth lifted from her breast at last, to set upon its way again, she almost sighed in disappointment. His lips pressed against her belly, battered skin stretched over hard, flat muscles, and his tongue traced every one of them adoringly before making its way farther down.

When he reached the rim of her underpants, Jaime hesitated. His hand let go of her breast and slid down to her hip, tugging softly at the laces without undoing them. He lifted his head and met her eyes.

“May I…?”

“Yes.”

She was rewarded with the widest smile he had ever given her. Brienne closed her eyes for a moment as Jaime hooked his fingers under the rim of her underwear and pulled the laces apart with his teeth. When he tugged at the cloth, the garment slid off her hips easily to tangle around her ankles. Brienne pushed her head back into the furs, fighting for composure, desperately trying to repress the urge to cover herself up again.

_It is all right. It’s him. He wants me, he will not use me, he will not mock me. Not my husband._

Jaime’s lips brushed teasingly over her abdomen, wandering down over her hip to the tender flesh of her thigh. His beard scratched and tickled, but she did not mind it at all. It was a new, exciting feeling, and it helped calm her thoughts. Then, he reached the small, white scar on the inside of her upper leg, and she felt his smile bristle against her skin.

“Oh, I remember where you got this one from.”, he breathed, a strange tone in his voice. He kissed the scar lightly and brought back the memory of a shallow creek choked with leaves, and the bite of steel flashing up her leg as a lion buried his talons into her thigh. Now his tongue was tracing the marks he had left.

“I could have drowned you in that creek”

Brienne heard herself whisper.

“Yes.” Came the voice from between her thighs “But you didn’t.”

She chuckled, then, and her unease dwindled. But her thoughts only quieted when his mouth brushed over the tangle of fine, fair hair that covered her mound and touched her lower lips. When his tongue slipped down between them, the last of her doubts were drowned in a wave of overwhelming glee. And yet, as a small moan slipped past her guard before Brienne could stifle it, she tensed up, ashamed. Jaime paused and pulled away, a light frown on his face.

“Don’t do that” he rasped. “Don’t hold yourself back. I want to hear you.”

He reached up and stroked her cheek, slowly letting his gaze glide over her face. “Please let me hear you.” 

When he kissed her again, Brienne did not bite back her excitement, and soon the sounds of her pleasure rang from the walls of her bedchamber.  
Jaime was loud too, licking and kissing and sucking, and growling like a starved bear. She felt herself grow wet and wetter beneath his lips, but she was beyond caring, and when he slipped a probing finger up inside her, she moaned loudly. Jaime moved with great care and calm experience, adding a second finger, and then a third, while his tongue was concentrating on a sweeter spot farther up, pushing and teasing. She reached down to thrust her fingers into his hair and grab a fistful of golden locks, holding him tightly against herself.

Brienne gasped as Jaime suddenly bent his fingers and a hot rush of untamed lust branded through her body, making her legs shake and her back arch. For one sweet moment, her vision went dark, and she felt as light as a feather. All the aches and hurts of battle washed away and even the deepest cuts ceased to sting. When she came to her senses again, she felt a deep, warm satisfaction nestled in the pit of her stomach and spreading out, bone-deep and fuzzy.

Breathless, she opened her eyes to see a broad, mischievous grin in a flushed, wet face, and two twinkling eyes looking at her from between her legs.

“Did I please my lady?”

“What in the world…was that?”

Jaime gave a casual shrug, but she could tell that he was much more excited than he wanted to let on.

“Some call it the Lord’s Kiss…another sort of kiss for a man to pledge his love, I’d say.”

“I…”

Brienne was lost for words. Her head was still swimming, and she was not sure how to move. All she had ever known of the bedding ceremony, and what a husband did to a dutiful wife in the bedchamber had come from her Septa Roelle, and later from bits and snippets overheard and observed in the camps. Camp followers, performing quick and furtive acts at the edge of the firelight, and bawdy jokes the men made. None of them had made it seem like it was a man’s job to please his woman, or that her pleasure should even be considered. No one had ever mentioned the Lord’s Kiss to her, most certainly not Septa Roelle, who had only ever spoken of duty and submission, of pain and endurance in the marital bed. What Jaime had just done to her was completely beyond everything Brienne had ever thought possible, as far as sexual acts went.

 _Done_ for _me. Not_ to _me. He did this purely for my own pleasure._

Brienne was still lost in awe when Jaime slowly made his way up from between her thighs to bring his face closer to hers once more. He buried his face against her neck and nuzzled her there, sighing.

“You know”, he whispered, his breath hot on her flushed skin “I wasn’t sure I could do this left-handed.” She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. “I’m a little out of practice.” 

She could feel his arousal through the soft leather of his breeches, pressed against her abdomen, hard and hot and yearning. It made her blush, and she realized that she still wanted more.

Slowly, she started rubbing herself against him, and noticed with growing satisfaction that Jaime grew tenser, and his breath grew shorter. Hesitantly, Brienne let her hand slide along his side, all the way down to his waist, and halted when she felt leather underneath her palm.

Jaime’s face was still pressed against her neck, and his breath came in pants now, as he shifted to give her hand easier access to his laces. For a moment, Brienne was not sure how to proceed. Her fingers hovered over the knots, itching to undo them, but something held her back. It was the fear of failure, she realized. She was worried that she would make a mistake…that she would not be skilled enough to return the favour Jaime had done her.

But it was just a moment.

Then, Jaime brushed her ear with his lips and whispered “Go on. It’s all right.”

He placed a small kiss on her cheek, and pressed himself against her hand, and she could feel him there, begging to be freed.

She undid the laces and slipped her hand under the waistband until she brushed him, and Jaime sharply sucked in air. As she wrapped her fingers around his length she could feel him throbbing against her palm, hot and slick. Carefully, she moved her hand up and down, trying to find out what worked best. Jaime let out a small moan when she lightly brushed over his head with the ball of her thumb. Brienne did not believe a sweeter sound existed.

She reached down with her other hand and pushed his trousers to his ankles, then slid up again to rest her palm on the wonderful curve of his bottom. The feeling of her skin on his was driving her mad, and the ache between her legs grew deeper and more desperate with every passing second.

“Jaime”, Brienne heard herself murmur. Her voice was breathless, and hoarse. She hardly recognized it herself.

He lifted his head from her hair and propped himself up a little, until she could see his face. He hovered inches above her, flushed and radiant. His pupils were so dilated that his eyes seemed almost black. Dark with lust. Brienne felt herself trembling at the sight of them.

“Jaime…I”, she took a shaky breath and gathered all her courage “I want you in me”.

A smile parted his beard, and he leant down to press his lips gently on hers.

“Your wish is my command”, he rasped “but you’ll have to guide me.”

He pushed his hip against her hand and downwards, gently but firmly. Brienne loosened her grip around him a little and shifted to position herself beneath him. She opened her legs wider, spreading them as far apart as she could to give Jaime the space he needed. Her belly was twisting anxiously as she slowly guided him towards her, and all she could do was to keep her hand from shaking. It felt as if an electric current was running through her body, making her heart race and taking her breath.

Suddenly, she could feel the head of his cock pressing against her sex, hot and yearning. Jaime’s eyes had never left hers, and now she could see a question in their dark depths. She uncurled her fingers from his length and pulled her hand out from between their bodies to cup his face. The kiss they shared was deep and hungry, ravished. It was all the permission Jaime needed.

When he entered her, Brienne whimpered quietly. Jaime broke their kiss and looked at her, frowning.

“Are you all right?”

“Yes…yes…I’m good.” She cursed herself for her tenseness. But Jaime only nodded and gave her a little smile.

“Just relax” he whispered and placed a kiss on her temple. His hand was on her cheek, caressing it gently as he slowly pushed inside her until his hips were flush with hers. It was a strange sensation, not unlike the night before, but so much more intense that Brienne could not supress the gasp rising in her throat. She knew that her face was bright red and blushing. But for the first time in her life, she did not care.

“Oh…wench”, Jaime moaned, his voice a husky blur, as wet and heavy as the air on Brienne’s skin. “You feel…so good.”

He started kissing her again, gently, slowly. In pace with his thrusts. Brienne’s left hand found the stump of his right hand held it tightly, stroking the warm, scarred skin and the strong muscles beneath. Her right hand lay on his back, digging her fingers into him to feel his every move.

She had long given up on stifling her moans, and the sound of her pleasure echoed from the age-old soot-stained granite walls of the room. Jaime was on top of her, inside her, all around her, and his smell, his warmth, and the feeling of his skin on hers filled her out entirely. He whispered small things into her ear, sweet nothings that neither of them would remember afterward, but which made Brienne’s soul overflow with happiness. His gaze never left hers, and she felt herself drowning in those eyes, shrouded with lust and filled with so much love, that it made her heart ache. But it was a good kind of ache; the best kind. The one which stemmed from requited love. 

Slowly, they were picking up their pace, and Brienne wrapped her long legs around Jaime, as he pushed harder into her, gripping her right hand, and pinning it to the cushions with his left. He found her sweet spot and pressed against it with every push, again and again, until Brienne’s head was swimming, and bright stars were dancing before her eyes. They were both panting by now, and Brienne’s moans were mingling with Jaime’s, rising into the hot, humid air in a strange sort of harmony.

Finally, just as she feared that she could not take it much longer, a wave of sweet bliss rolled over her and swept her away. Her legs around Jaime’s waist spasmed violently, and for a few, delicious seconds, Brienne felt nothing but pure, dazzling joy. She let out a cry so loud that it made her ears ring and her throat feel raw.

When he felt her clench around him, Jaime cried out too, louder than her, and collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily. They lay like this for a while, a heap of tangled limbs and tousled hair and smiling souls. Jaime made no move to withdraw from her, and for a time they breathed as one, exhausted pants that slowly grew calmer. Brienne could feel his heart beating against her chest, and his hand was still in hers, their fingers entwined. He had nestled his head in the crook of her neck, and every one of his breaths sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. 

At last, Jaime rolled off her with a reluctant sigh and came to lie next to her, on the soft furs of her bed. Brienne missed him almost instantly. Somehow, she felt a little empty without him in her.

She could feel his seed slowly tickling out of her now, and for some reason, that delighted her incredibly. She turned on her side to face Jaime and was met with two laughing eyes.

“How are you?” he asked in a soft voice.

Brienne did not even try to find words that could describe how she was. She knew that they did not exist. Instead, she lowered her head and pressed her lips on Jaime’s right wrist, on the twisted white and silver scars where once his swordhand had been, and slowly covered it with kisses.

They fell asleep together, Jaime’s strong arms wrapped tightly around her chest, his face buried in her hair, their legs entangled. The air smelled of smoke and sweat and sex, and Brienne could not remember having ever been this happy.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a little carried away with this one. This is the first time /in my life/ that I have attempted to write smut, so I would be really happy about your feedback! Not sure how it turned out...
> 
> Also, I had to take out a scene which I really liked, but which eventually did not fit into the context of the chapter tonally. I am considering adding it as an outtake to the end of the 7th chapter...thoughts?


	6. The Red Keep

The air was thick with smoke. The stench of brimstone and burned wood and flesh was almost unbearable. Briennes eyes were burning and watering, and rubbing only made it worse. Her lungs felt like they were filled with ash, and every breath burned in her chest. The fire outside was raging within her now too, drawn in with each new breath and lingering.   
Pod was coughing violently next to her.

The streets were covered in an ankle-deep layer of ash that muffled all sounds and made each building look much like the other. It was shortly past midday but in the alleys of the burning city it was so dark that it was difficult to see any further than thirty feet. As they rode up the main street, Brienne and Podrick were surrounded on all sides by burnt and burning houses, smouldering ambers and flickering flames, red and gold and green.

Shortly after they had passed the gates, Brienne had ripped off a strip of cloth from her tunic and had wrapped it around her face, covering mouth and nose and only leaving a slit for her eyes. She figured she'd look a bit like one of the Silent Sisters, who veiled their face to ward off stares and illness alike; smoke and vapours were not unlike those, or so Brienne hoped. She told Pod to do as she had.

The going was slow; the thick grey blanket of ash on the ground hid obstacles, and more than once they had to get off their horses and lead them around piles of smoking wooden beams, where houses had collapsed onto the road. The air grew hotter and thicker the closer they came to the foot of the Red Keep, where the dragonfire had struck first. Through clouds of soot and grey ash, it was impossible to see the ruined castle, only a dark, looming shape in front of them showed the way.

They had met very few people since entering the city, and most of them had been survivors fleeing towards the broken city gates. Once, they had come across a part of one of the rescue troops who were allegedly roaming the city, three young soldiers from the Reach, none of them older than five-and-ten. They looked at the two strangers with dull eyes set deep in strained, pale faces that seemed older than their years. Each of them had a bucket and a flat beater in hand, and on each breast the rose of house Tyrell was sewn in yellow thread smudged with soot. None of them paid Brienne and Podrick any mind, nor did their faces show any sign of curiosity or recognition. They walked past the knight and her squire without saying a word, too exhausted even to lift their feet off the ground, kicking up plumes of ash and sparks. When they were gone, the silence fell again, only made imperfect by the cracking and hissing of a thousand small fires and the ragged breathing of four creatures, men and beasts, wandering up the long cobblestone road that lead to the top of Aegons High Hill.

Brienne grew more tense with every passing minute. She did not dare to go any faster, as the ground was treacherous and a horse could easily slip and break a leg on the steep road, but the pace with which they climbed up the hill was excruciatingly slow to her. Her thoughts were racing, and as much as she had tried to supress them, images of a bloody and broken Jaime kept floating in front of her inner eye; a beheaded Jaime, a hanged Jaime, a burnt and stabbed and crushed Jaime. A dead Jaime. Her eyes were watering again, and tears started to creep down her cheeks.

_It’s just the smoke._

Brienne asked herself, not for the first time, whether she was searching in the right place. Couldn’t it have been that Jaime had been taken prisoner, and was at the queens camp, unharmed and safe for now? Could it be that the guardsmen just had not had any notion of that, had been unaware or falsely informed? If so, her and Podricks ascend through the burning remains of Kings Landing would have been for naught. But something told her that it wasn’t so. Her feeling drew her up the hill and towards the broken castle, looming in shadow and flames.

At the curtain wall, they halted. The chains that had held the drawbridge in place had been ripped out of the red stone wall, the chain links themselves lay scattered all across the ground, torn and burst. The heavy oaken doors had been uninged and thrown into the yard like some childs' unloved toys, and the statues and ornaments adorning the wall had been all but obliterated by some savage blow.

A soft round shape on the ground gave Brienne pause, and when she dismounted and poked at it with her boot, the ash came sloughing off to reveal a half-rotten head dipped in tar, still stuck on the spike it had been mounted on. It must have fallen from the cenellations atop the walls. Brienne turned away and grasped her horses reins. Podrick gave the head a weary look but said nothing; he dismounted and lead his horse after her, across the fallen drawbridge and into the remains of what had once been Maegor’s greatest work.

The courtyard was eerily silent. They led their horses around the splintered doors, their feet kicking up red powdery dust and cinders. All around them, the walls and towers of the Red Keep were crumbling, arches and pillars ending in twisted molten stumps, some of them still smoking. Not a soul was moving in the dead carcass of the huge castle, that had once been so busy and alive. With every step she took, Brienne’s heart sank deeper and her hopes grew fainter. How could anyone have survived a direct dragon attack by two battletested beasts? Drogon and Rhaegal seemed to have melted the castle down to its foundations in most parts. They had unleashed a fury of an intensity that the Seven Kingdoms had not seen ever since Aegon the Conqueror had molten the walls and towers of Harren the Black’s grotesquely huge holdfast.

The castle resembled a graveyard. The air was silent and unmoving, thick with the stench of sulfur, and still uncomfortably hot. Even though there was no one in sight, Brienne dared not call out her knight’s name. She was afraid to break the silence, afraid to hear her voice echoing from the burnt and molten walls, afraid to stir the ghosts of the deceased. But what she feared the most was the silence after the call. The possibility that no one would answer.

And still they shouldered on. Through heaps of debris and consumed glories, cracked stones and broken glass. And Jaime nowhere to be found.

The closer they got to the throne room, the stronger grew the feeling of unease in Briennes belly, and soon she was convinced that evil lay ahead. Something truly terrible must have happened close by, for her teeth started to clatter and her stomach clenched more painfully with every step she and Podrick took towards the former epicentre of all the might of the Seven Kingdoms.

Just when she was about to call to Podrick to turn around and leave, something caught her eye. 

At the foot of the wide, sweeping marble stairs to the throne room lay a dark shape. Ash had covered it, but as she came closer, Brienne could make out the folds of a cloak beneath the grey blanket, crumpled and still and dead.   
And under the fabric, the gold.

It was as if the whole world had stopped and shrunken, fallen in on itself, until the only thing left was the faint golden glimmer at the bottom of a shattered stairwell.

For one moment, she stood completely still. Then she rushed towards the shape, speeding up with every step, until she was running down the hall, dodging fallen chunks of marble, vaulting over bottomless cracks in the pavement, dashing through the ash that covered all. Her feet did not even touch the ground. She couldn’t remember how she had started running, but she remembered why. The motionless shape in front of her drew her in, made her run faster, made her heart beat violently against her ribs.

She came to a halt and fell to her knees, reaching out to brush the ash off and touch the fabric underneath. Her fingers felt roughspun wool, scratchy and crude, and her nose was filled with the stench of burned hair. But there was more. A familiar smell.

Anxiously, Brienne pulled on the fabric, aware that it must once have been a cloak, now badly burnt and torn, and tried to make sense of what lay underneath.  
Soft linen dark with blood. Old brown leather turned an ugly, rusty red colour. The golden glint had become a golden sheen, catching the light falling through the destroyed roof and shimmering brightly. It was undoubtedly, a hand.

Briennes breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she pushed off the wide hood. Golden Locks streaked with silver tumbled freely, released from their restraints, to cover a face she feared to know. It took all her might to push them, too, away.

Underneath lay a man whose features she would have recognized even before her own.

_Jaime_

She wanted to say his name, call it, scream it out into the world towards the angry, scarlet sky, but all that escaped her throat was a faint whisper. She forced herself to breathe. In. Out. Steady. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted. His whole face looked peaceful, relaxed. Oblivious.  
Hesitantly, her fingers brushed his cheek, felt the coarse stubble of a gold-and-ash beard, a remnant of what had once been a full, soft mat of hair. She felt the line of his jaw, now sharp and hard against her fingertips when once it had been cushioned by his beard. His skin was cool and dry and pale, covered in small scratches and cuts that did not bleed. She did not want to think of how long he must have been lying here.

Her fingers found his hair, his long, tangled locks, grown out to more than double the length he had had when he had sworn his love to her for the first time.

_You shaved for her, and you let your hair grow out_

Brienne supressed a sob.

Carefully, she lifted his heavy head and placed it in her lap, softly, ever so softly. Her Palms rested on his cheeks, her fingers, thick and coarse and smudged, caressed his beard, his temples, his hair; restless, lovingly.

Even small and pale and motionless, Jaime still held an innate beauty, a captivating aura. It pulled her in, made her heart beat faster, made her eyes grow wider, trying to take it all in. Even in death he looked beautiful.

The world grew dim, blurred before her eyes, threatening to swallow her surroundings and drown out his face. Something resonated within her, made her body stir and her chest swell. And suddenly the air was filled with song.

Brienne had never sung for anyone before. It was not for a lack of wanting, though.   
She had wanted to sing for her father in the great hall of the Evenstar on Tarth, showing him what she had learned to make him proud.   
She had wanted to sing for the birds at the window of her bedchamber, and the horses in her fathers’ stables.  
And she had wanted to sing for Lord Renly. Oh, how she had wanted to sing for him. But she had kept quiet, afraid of humiliation, torn between her love for them all and the fear of ridicule looming over her like a famished dragon, ready to strike her as soon as she opened her mouth.

But now Brienne sung.

Her voiced echoed off the blank halls of the Red Keep, hoarse and shaky, ugly like herself. The words rushed out of her lungs and over her lips, leaving her aching chest and filling the void where once there had been laughter and anger and love and intrigue, at the doors to the Iron Throne. They came bubbling up, long forgotten, pushed back into the abyss of her mind and locked away forever. A cradle song, sung to her by the mother she had never truly known.

She started rocking the body in her arms, swaying back and forth, while her voice rose and fell with her motions and the melody of the ancient, soothing lullaby. Tears ran down her face and fell, got caught in Jaimes’ beard and sparkled like tiny, sorrowful diamonds. She barely even noticed them. All she could focus on was the steady sound of her voice, and the cold heavieness that was settling in her chest, threatening to squeeze her windpipe shut and silence her song, crushing her heart and shattering her soul. She forbade herself to let that happen.

Suddenly, a cough ripped through the air and shook the body in her arms.  
The sound was like a thunderclap, unbearably loud, sharp and violent. A noise so all-encompassing and demanding that it brought Brienne back into reality and made her stop singing mid-verse.   
She dared not move. She dared not breathe.  
Her eyes were glued to Jaime’s face, all her attention focused on the weight in her arms and the skin under her fingers.

The first cough was followed by a second, even stronger one. Jaime forcefully sucked in the burnt air, chest heaving, struggling to breathe.

Brienne felt petrified. For a moment, her heart stopped beating.  
Then Jaime opened his eyes, two green lakes glinting in a soot-stained face, and when they looked at her, the world started to turn again. Brienne felt her body quiver as all the tension, and the pain and the suffering of the past months evaporated in the blink of an eye; she started to laugh. She started to cry.  
Her sobs mingled with giggles that bubbled up and grew into an exasperated sound. She still held Jaime in her arms, cradled him like a child, but her vision was blurred, and her ears were filled only with her own noise. It was then that Brienne realized how angry she was. So happy, but so, so angry. Mad, really.

“Kingslayer!” the word forced itself through teeth and sobs and lips to emerge in a hiss. Brienne prayed that it hurt.

“You bastard! You fool! You terrible … terrible man!” she swallowed hard to suppress the sobs that kept rising up.  
Jaime lay very still, but his breathing was more even now, although every breath he took made a rattling sound. And he was still looking at her.

“Do you even…do you even _comprehend_ what you have done? What you have done _to me_?”

Brienne heard her voice grow louder, but she did not try to quiet down.

“You _left_ me, Jaime. You left me out there, in the cold, after all we went through! After everything we did. You left me standing there, in the snow, _in my nightgown_ , and you never even looked back. And for what? I….I was so worried, so, so worried about you….so….I was so afraid…..Jaime, I- “

Brienne stopped, caught up in her own words, wanting to say so much but not knowing how.

The silence that followed her shouting was short-lived. Jaime’s voice was paper-thin, no more than a whisper, but somehow, it was the loudest thing Brienne had ever heard. 

“Actually, it’s Queenslayer now.” He rasped. His lips pulled up in a smile, but his eyes stayed cold and dead. Sadness sat deep behind them, like a famished beast.

“What?” Maybe she had not heard correctly.   
Instead of an answer, she got a long, exhausted sigh, followed by another strained cough. Brienne pushed blood-crusted strands of hair out of Jaime’s face and pulled him into an upright position, to ease his breathing. Shortly, the coughing died down and turned back to rattling gasps. Jaime’s face was only inches from hers now, she could feel his hot, laboured breath on her cheeks, and smelled his stench, sweat and blood and fire…and life.

“Brienne….” Her name rolled softly from his tongue and through the broken vaults. “Brienne, I….I am sorry.”

He pulled his hand free from under him and grasped her forearm, his gaze never leaving hers. His grip was weak but determined. In his eyes, Brienne saw only earnest and sorrow.

“I am sorry for having done this to you. I am sorry for the way I acted, I….you never deserved any of this. I behaved like the miserable ingrate I am....shit for honor….I suppose.”

Jaime smiled a thin, apologetic smile, and this time it did reach his eyes.

“You…” Brienne swallowed hard, shook her head. Her anger was long gone, yet she could not bring herself to show that to him. Instead, she reached inside her doublet, pulled out a small flask of water and uncorked it. Jaime took it in his shaking hand and emptied it in three greedy gulps. When he handed the bottle back, she asked:

“Are you…hurt?”

Jaime groaned and raised his head to look at himself. The slight shift of weight made him grimace in pain.

“Fell down some stairs and got stabbed a bit and…I think at some point….that bloody dragon dropped something on me but….”

He lifted his hand to pat himself down and winced at every touch. Then he ran his palm over his face and examined it, frowning.

“But…” Brienne was almost too afraid to ask “…the blood…”

Jaime looked down at the front of his blood-drenched tunic, and a flicker of sadness flashed across his face, and was gone in an instant.

“It’s not mine.” 

He shook his head, as if to free it from an unbidden thought. Before Brienne could insist on the matter, he asked:

“How do I look?”

“Terrible.”

He chuckled drily.

“Quite right too.”

Jaime caught Brienne’s dark glare and lowered his head. They were still close enough to feel each other’s warmth, and her arms were still holding him upright.

“I know what it looks like, Bri….I do. But be reassured that what I did, I did for the realm. I did it for the right cause. You might not understand it for a while, but…I did it for you. Most of all for you. Please…forgive me.”

“What happened, Jaime?” Brienne asked quietly. Her tears had run dry. She felt empty and feeble.

“I….I rode south to…”

“To her.”

He closed his eyes. His jaw clenched and for a moment, Brienne thought that he might start to cry. But he caught himself, and, instead of answering, nodded weakly.

“To her.”

Neither of them spoke her name, yet it hung between them like a dark, velvet veil.

“But why did you….you told me…..we….we married, Jaime. We swore an oath. You swore an oath to me.” She felt as if her chest was filled with lead, where once her heart had been. “Why…”

“Because I loved her. I loved her for so many years that I had forgotten what love felt like.”

He looked down at his hand as he said it, as if too afraid to look at her. Brienne’s head hurt. She was three-and-ten again. Foolish. Dumb. Large and ugly. Red Ronnet’s rose lay at her feet. Her eyes were dry.

Jaime’s voice was sandpaper, scraping at her soul.

“In all those years, Brienne, I never knew what _being loved_ felt like. And I would never have. You showed that to me…”

he lifted his head, and although she did not want to, she met his eyes, hard, old, tired. And desperate.

“I may not have known it then, but I was in love with you from the moment I first saw you…and I would have died happily, knowing that you were safe.”

The wrinkles around his eyes deepened as he smiled sadly.

“But I owed my sister. I could not stay away and watch her demise… I rode south to try and stop her, to talk her out of this madness…I owed that much to her.” He sighed.

“But why didn’t you tell me? You never said a thing…you just vanished-“

“Would you have let me go?”

“I-“

“Would you have let me go…alone?”

Brienne did not answer. She did not have to.

His body tensed, as if to brace himself for the next words.

“Cersei…she was so far gone. She would not listen. She…I tried to reason with her but...”

Jaime closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His hand lay in his lap, clenched so tightly into a fist that his knuckles were turning white.

“I….Brienne, I killed her.”

The last words came out choked. Jaime’s body shivered violently and he slumped over, suddenly a heap of tattered clothes and soot stains. He buried his face against her chest and, pressed to the rough leather of her doublet, started to sob uncontrollably. There was nothing more to do for Brienne than to hold him and let the current run its course. She did not know what to say, so she kept quiet. The world had stopped making sense a while ago.

It took a long time until the sobs ebbed away. And even after that, they stayed where they were, tightly embraced at the foot of a broken stairwell, at the top of which lay a throne room and a slain queen.

Later, all Brienne could remember of their way outside were bits and pieces. She had helped Jaime to his feet, had propped him up and led him to the horses and Podrick, who had stayed behind with the animals, too embarrassed and distressed to come closer to the two of them. With his help, she had heaved Jaime, who could barely stand, onto the back of her courser and then mounted behind him. With her knight leaning securely against her chest, she had taken the reins to lead the sorry party out the way they had come, through the rubble and debris and dying fires. As she rode out the shattered gates and turned her back to the ruins of the Red Keep, Brienne sent a silent prayer to the gods, to never have to set foot in this place again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done now!   
> As always, I would really, really appreciate some feedback on this chapter - and this work in general. Feel free to share your feelings and opinions with me, I'd be happy to know how you like this fanfic :)


	7. Evenfall

The sun shone brightly from an azure sky, warm and welcoming. A mild breeze blew through Jaime’s hair, as gentle and playful as Brienne’s fingers.

“Can you smell it?”

Jon Snows voice sounded excited and hoarse with wonder, giving away his young age beneath the air of severity he was accustomed to shroud himself in.

“Smell what?”, Jaime asked backn“The seaweed or the fish guts?”

“Spring.”

He did, indeed. It was a wonderful smell, sweet and promising, that refused to be drowned out by the sea. Jaime had to smile.

“I don’t know what you mean, my friend. All I smell is the seagull shit on these battlements. Someone should clean around here.”

He was rewarded with a rare, throaty chuckle from Jon.

“Shall I remind you that those are _your_ battlements, my lord? So, indeed, their sorry state is your own fault.”

“I believe the birds are to blame for that, not me. Lay the fault at their door.”

“If only they had one.”

The two men turned to look out at the sparkling blue expanse of the Narrow Sea which spread out calm and unperturbed to the misty horizon. A few fishing boats danced on the waves farther out, but apart from them, the sea seemed devoid of men. Some ships lay at anchor at the harbour, trading galleys for the most part, and one huge, painted warship flying a crowned black stag on a golden field.

“I should get back.”, Jaime said after a while and turned to face his king. “My wife will already be missing me.”

Jon bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Please consider my offer, Jaime.”

“I shall. But I can agree to nothing unless you get that beast of yours off the island in time, before he finishes all our sheep and starts turning to the horses.”

Jon grimaced.

“Rhaegal eats what he likes. If fish is not to his taste, who am I to keep him off the sheep? It was a long flight.”

“Very well.”, Jaime shrugged. “But should he come close to my own destriers, I can guarantee for nothing.” He grinned as he said it.

“I will remember it. Now, I shall not keep you any longer. She will be waiting.”

***

When Jaime entered the room, he found Brienne on the balcony of their bedchamber, looking out at the sea. She did not seem to have noticed his arrival. For a moment, Jaime stood in the doorframe to admired her: she was wearing a long, silken dress the colour of the sky. A breeze ruffled her skirts and made the silk whisper against her skin; her broad shoulders were half-hidden under her cascading, flaxen hair. Where the strands moved to show a sliver of neck, he could see her freckles. He could not imagine a more beautiful sight.  
Jaime could have stayed standing in that doorframe forever, awestruck, just taking her in.   
His Evenstar.

Instead, he bridged the distance between them with a few long strides and wrapped his arms around her waist, burring his face in the hollow of her neck and inhaling her scent. Brienne let out a surprised giggle, and put her hand on his, over her swollen belly.

“Has he finally let you go, then?” she asked, leaning into him.

“It took him long enough” he murmured against her skin and felt her amusement.

“Now what will you do?”

“I am not sure. I need more time to think.”

Brienne sighed and turned in his arms until she could look at him. After all this time, and even here, surrounded by so much blue, the blue of her eyes still made Jaime’s heart falter.

“I will stand by you, no matter how you choose. You know that. But you are the Lord of Tarth. You have this castle and this island. You have me….and”, she touched her belly lightly “you have this. Is that not enough?”

He pulled her back into his arms and craned his neck to look up at her. He could not help but smile.

“It is. It is more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

Jaime stretched to lay his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes. The waves crashing against the shore below and the calls of the seabirds above mingled into a soothing melody that filled his world as he said the words he had said a thousand times before.   
They still rang true.

“I am yours, Brienne of Tarth.”

“And I yours, Jaime Lannister of Tarth.”

“I love you”  
  


He had made his choice a long time ago. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it is done. I thank all of you for reading - and hopefully enjoying - this work. I certainly did have fun writing it. Special thanks to my one rl friend who had to listen to my whining about how hard writing smut for the first time was for me - and how difficult Brienne's POV is in general - and tolerated it. Thank you for your patience.
> 
> Also, very special thanks to everyone who left a kudo or a few nice words! I am always very happy to see that I could make your days a little better with my writing.  
> I'm always gald about feedback, so please don't be shy to tell me how you liked this story! 
> 
> May the Old Gods, and the New, watch over you all.


	8. Outtake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, you thought it was over? Well, so did I.  
> But here's an outtake, a scene that I wrote and had to edit out eventually because it did not fit the tone of the chapter any more. But I like it and wanted to show it to you anyways.  
> This was supposed to be part of Chapter 5, "III", so please take your mind back a few steps and reinsert yourself in the flow of action of that particular chapter. It is important to mention that in this alternate version, Jaime did NOT take his hand off during the wedding ceremony. 
> 
> But now I've talked enough, here it is.

_... Brienne was still lost in awe when Jaime slowly made his way up from between her thighs to bring his face closer to hers once more. He buried his face against her neck and nuzzled her there, sighing._

_“You know”, he whispered, his breath hot on her flushed skin “I wasn’t sure I could do this left-handed.” She felt his chuckle more than she heard it. “I’m a little out of practice.”_

_She could feel his arousal through the soft leather of his breeches, pressed against her abdomen, hard and hot and yearning. It made her blush, and she realized that she still wanted more._

Yet as he shifted position, something cold and hard brushed against her belly and made her flinch.

“Gods! What’s- “

“Oh.” Jaime pulled away and lifted himself off her, allowing her to sit up. “I’m sorry.”

He turned away from her, gingerly holding his right arm in front of his chest. “My hand. I forgot to take it off –“

He gave an annoyed grunt and started to fumble at the leather strips that held the heavy golden replica of his sword hand in place. Brienne moved closer to him and stayed his hand before he had loosened the first clasp.

“Don’t”, she heard herself whisper.

Jaime looked up, frowning.

“Let me do it.”

She squeezed his fingers and gently pried them off his wrist. He did not stop her, but she could feel his enquiring look on her face as she started to loosen the straps and unbuckle the clasps.

“Why do you keep wearing it, anyways?” she asked after a moment of silence. “It’s not as if it is very practical.”

“It’s…I don’t know.”

He made a flimsy effort to pull his arm away, but Brienne held firmly onto it and undid another clasp.

“Hold still, I’m almost done.”

Her fingers stroked the scarred skin of his forearm, cautiously avoiding the fresh, stitched gash running along up to his elbow.

“Is it because it reminds you of your home?” she guessed.

Jaime’s sudden laughter filled the dark room, a harsh bark devoid of joy. Startled, Brienne drew away.

 _I should never have asked._ She had done something wrong, she could feel it.

“Oh, certainly! It also reminds me of my lord father and my sweet, sweet sister who gifted it to me so they wouldn’t have to look at that ugly stump of mine anymore.”

He growled and turned his face away. The mention of Cersei hung in the air between them, as thick and heavy as smoke rising from a pyre. Brienne wanted to say something, anything, but Jaime beat her to it.

“Forgive me, that wasn’t very chivalrous. I just…” He sighed and looked at her, frowning. “Without it I feel naked, Brienne. I hated it from the very moment it was strapped onto my wrist, but I cannot seem to get rid of it. I don’t feel _whole_ when I’m not wearing it. I think…I suppose in a way it makes me feel less vulnerable.”,

Jaime shrugged and looked at the hearth, where the fire was burning down to embers.

Hesitantly, Brienne reached for him and touched him lightly on his bare shoulder. She felt him tensing up, but he did not flinch from her touch.

“I was there when you lost that hand. I have seen you suffer and almost die because of it. But since then things have changed…. _you_ have changed. And it wasn’t the whole man I fell in love with. It was you, the honourable knight you have become…”she slid her fingers down his arm until they found cold metal and polished gemstones. “…And I never needed a golden hand to realize that, either.”

When Jaime turned his head to face her, tears were shimmering in his eyes, silvery against the sheen of the flames.

“You know what?” he croaked, “it does remind me of my home. All golden and glittering and cold and false…” he gave a choked laugh “I should get rid of it.”

Brienne gave him a smile which was wider than she usually dared and moved her hand back to the warm flesh of his wrist, and the soft leather straps that were still in place.

“We should”, she agreed.

Together, they opened the last clasp and undid the leather straps, until the heavy gold was so loose it threatened to fall off on its own. Gently, ever so gently, Brienne took the hand and pulled it off to reveal the soft black velvet cap underneath. She lifted her gaze and met Jaime’s eyes.

“Ready?”

He said nothing but gave a curt nod.

Slowly, Brienne removed the fabric that covered the stump where Jaime’s hand had been and let the cap fall to the floor. The flesh underneath was white and pink, tense knots and ripples and gnarly lines covering the skin.

“Brienne…I-“

She did not wait for Jaime to finish his sentence but bent down and kissed the pale scars. Brienne covered his stump in kisses, tried to place one on every single bulge and rift and knot. None of them should go unkissed, she decided.

When she lifted her eyes, her lips still pressed to his wrist, the sight of Jaime gave her pause. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was sobbing silently, but the smile on his lips was brighter than the tears on his cheeks, and his eyes shone with a bliss and gratefulness she had never witnessed in any one man before.

He reached for her with his left hand, and lifted her head from his stump, drawing her towards him. Their lips met, and Brienne could taste salt, but she felt his smile, too, never faltering as he pulled her into a tight embrace. They stayed like that for a while and longer, so close that Brienne could not say whose breath she was hearing, or whose heartbeat she was feeling.

After what could have been a minute, or an hour, Jaime turned his head and murmured two words into her ear, small and quiet, yet more valuable than all the gold in the world.

“Thank you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now this, definitely, is the end of this work. Thank you all for reading!


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